


Jammy Dodgers Are Not the Only Fruit

by MistressKat



Category: Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Ficlet, Implied Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Have a biccy.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jammy Dodgers Are Not the Only Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pushkin666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/gifts).



> I blame [pushkin666](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/). For everything, basically.

The thing is, in their line of work they eat a lot of biscuits. And not just during the filming of _Bake Off_ , oh no, _all the time_. Because the fact of the matter is, British entertainment industry runs largely on biscuits, tea and more biscuits. Also the bent for making suggestive jokes about spanking (get it? _bent_ ), but that’s more of an innate ability than something externally provided.  
  
Well, there was the 60s...  
  
But the biscuits. There are a lot of them, although as a rule the biscuits eaten during _Bake Off_ tend to be superior. And yet, amidst that cornucopia of shortbreads and macaroons and chocolate fingers, Sue still manages to get excited over the bog standard supermarket brand jammy dodgers.  
  
 _Obscenely_ excited.  
  
“You’re disgusting,” Mel says, although really, she’s kind of thinking the exact opposite. It doesn’t do to encourage Sue though. That’s how ‘Tequila and Cupcakes’ nights happen.  
  
“ _Au contraire_ ,” Sue says, in a horrendous French accent, “I am _dis_ tinctive, _dis_ organised and...” She picks up another biscuit, twists it apart and sticks her tongue right into the red, sticky dot of jam. Mel looks at the script in her hands and pretends to read. “...totally _disco!_ ” Sue finishes.  
  
“That doesn’t even fit the...” Mel flaps the papers illustratively, “...the grammatical theme.”  
  
Sue snorts, crunching on the biscuits, crumbs flying this way and that. “Aww, don’t be so _dis_ gruntled,” she says, lifting her feet to Mel’s lap, the green Converse digging into her kneecaps in a way that’s both familiar and slightly painful.  
  
“I’m not,” Mel says, even though she is, a little.  Just not for the reasons she cares to consider at any length.  
  
Sue looks at her over the rim of her glasses, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Here,” she finally says, “Have a biccy.” She offers her a jammy dodger, holding it in her fingers and not on a plate like a normal person.  
  
Which is to be expected really, Mel thinks. The two of them moved past plates and manners a long time ago and arguably neither of them was ever normal. “Alright then,” she says, accepting the treat. The biscuit is kind of squishy, softened by the warmth of Sue’s fingers, but Mel eats it anyway.  
  
It tastes sweet, like sugar and friendship.


End file.
